Guns, Grace, and Rock Salt
by LadyWallace
Summary: A series of vignettes all seasons, characters and genres (no slash). Up now: "Friendly Fire" -In which there is a battle with some very high stakes
1. Thankful

**So, this is going to be kind of a catch-all for any short one-shots I end up writing, pretty much anything under 2,000 words that I wrote on a whim that I don't really feel like posting alone. They're all seasons, characters, and genres so you'll get a surprise with each update. I have no planned** **schedule for updates, I'm just posting these now because I have a few stored up and am still working on my next multi-chapter story so I thought I wold just post these up for your amusement in the meantime =)**

 **The first one is a little Thanksgiving one-shot in honor of the holiday. I hope everyone in the US has a good Thanksgiving!**

 **Characters/Season: Sam, Dean, Cas/ S9 same AU I use in A Thing or Two About Being Human**

 **Genre: Fluff**

 **Rating: K**

Thankful

 _Team Free Will Celebrates Thanksgiving_

"Sammy! Get your butt in here! I could use a little help getting everything set up!"

Sam wandered into the kitchen where Dean was currently carving a turkey. Well, attempting to carve a turkey. The bird looked more like it had been the victim of a werewolf attack to Sam.

"What happened?" he asked.

Dean gave him a good replica of the famous 'bitchface' and waved the carving knife, flinging some turkey skin across the kitchen. "This isn't exactly as easy as it looks you know."

Sam couldn't help but smirk. "Well, Dean, it might go better if you treat it more like a dinner entrée than the monster of the week."

"Haha," Dean said sarcastically and handed over the knife. "You give it a try then, bitch. I've got potatoes to mash."

"Just make sure they stay in the pan, jerk, I'd kinda like some of those," Sam returned as he took the knife from Dean and started to try and repair some of his brother's damage, transferring the better looking slices to a serving tray.

Cas came into the kitchen then, looking around curiously and sniffing the air with a new human appreciation. "It smells very good, Dean. Is it almost ready? I got the table set up."

"Great! Just have to finish these potatoes. Can you get the rolls and the cranberry sauce out there?" Dean asked the ex-angel.

"Of course," Cas replied, eager to eat, as his stomach had been rumbling for the past hour as he smelled the fantastic aroma coming from the kitchen where Dean had been working all day to cook a Thanksgiving meal for the three of them. It was Cas' first Thanksgiving as a human, and Sam and Dean had decided they should have a real Thanksgiving that year since there was no impending doom and they had the bunker to cook in now. It was shaping up to be a fine day, and probably would be even better when they finally got to sit down and eat the fruits of Dean's labor.

"Okay, I think I got some decent slices of turkey and the legs off," Sam said as he took up the platter and a bowl of stuffing. "You about done with those potatoes?"

"Almost," Dean replied, adding a little salt and pepper before giving a final stir and dumping the huge pile of potatoes into a bowl. "There we go!" He grabbed that along with another of green beans—Sam's idea—and followed his brother out to one of the library tables that they had made into a banquet table for the day. Cas had set it, and also did his best to decorate it with several pumpkins and, for dessert, an apple and pumpkin pie, just waiting to be dug into.

Dean reached under the table and brought out the last piece of the meal: an ice bucket full of bottles of beer.

"There, now it's perfect," Dean said as he handed bottles to Sam and Cas and the two others smiled at him and knocked their bottles against his. Dean took a long swig and then slammed it down on the table, clapping his hands together. "Now, let's eat!"

The next few minutes were full of the three men squabbling good-naturedly over the food on the table, everyone trying to reach for all of it at once, piling as much on their plates as they could, and complaining when they thought someone was hogging one dish.

After the first few bites and appreciative toasts to the cook which Dean took with no small amount of pride, Cas turned to the two brothers as their chewing caused the room to fall into silence.

"I think we should say what we are thankful for," the ex-angel said. "That is the point of Thanksgiving, after all."

Sam nodded and reached for his drink, taking a swig. "Okay, I'll start then. I'm thankful for this bunker, and the fact that we now have someplace safe to stay so that we can rest between hunts, and actually make real food in a real kitchen." He smiled meaningfully at Dean.

The elder Winchester shot him a look. "Don't get too used to it, it's not gonna happen every day. Unless you two would like to take a shot at it, that is."

Sam shook his head adamantly and turned back to grab some more stuffing.

"What are you thankful for, Dean?" Cas prompted, turning to the older brother.

Dean gave a longsuffering sigh and cocked his head to one side, thinking. "I'm thankful that Thanksgiving isn't a holiday attached to anything remotely supernatural to we can actually have a day off."

Sam laughed and raised his beer to Dean. "I'll drink to that."

Dean clashed their bottles together and went back to his food as Sam turned to Cas. "What are you thankful for, Cas?"

The ex-angel suddenly looked a little self-conscious and shifted slightly in his chair, looking down at his plate as he moved around some of his stuffing. "When I was first turned human, I didn't really know how hard it was, but I soon found that finding food and shelter were a very difficult thing, especially without money. So I am thankful for both this bunker and this food." He smiled then and looked up between the two brothers. "But most of all, I am thankful that I have two good friends who are willing to take me in, even when they didn't have to."

"Cas, that's what family does," Dean told him sincerely and Sam nodded.

Cas' face broke into a grateful smile as he raised his bottle of beer. "To family then?"

"To family," Sam and Dean echoed firmly and they all drank.

"And that is officially the last chick flick moment of the day," Dean informed them, grabbing the bowl of mashed potatoes and hauling it toward him. "Anyone ready for seconds?"

The three hunters spent the rest of the day enjoying a relaxing day off in each other's company, with the renewed knowledge that, even during the hardships that were likely to come, they would still have their small family to fall back on. And that was certainly something to be thankful for.

* * *

 **So, it's almost the Christmas season and last year I opened up a prompt request for anyone who had a Christmas story prompt. I love writing Christmas themed stories but can never think of ideas so that is why I turn to you, and it also gives me a chance to give back to all you awesome readers :)**

 **If you have an idea, please let me know in the review or just PM me. I just ask it be an idea that I can make into a story of reasonable length like from 1-5,000 words so I have time to write as many as possible.**

 **And please don't ask for slash because I won't write it. I can't promise to write everything but I'll try to get to as many as I can :) Also, if you give me a prompt too similar to one I did last year, I probably will pass on it, so just keep in mind, I may already have written the prompt you wanted to read :P**


	2. The Care and Feeding of Humans

**This was just a silly little one-shot I thought up when thinking about how Cas could misconstrue human things sometimes. I originally planned this as one of several mini-shots for my A Thing or Two About Being Human series but couldn't think up more than two ideas, so they are now delegated to this series.**

 **For this one, I highly suggest you check out "How to Console an Upset Friend" on WikiHow and think about it from Cas' POV. I love doing that when I write about Cas confronting human things. I also loved thinking of him reading "5 Ways to Hug" :P**

 **Characters/Setting: Cas, Dean/ Season 5**

 **Genre: humor, some fluff**

 **Rating: K**

The Care and Feeding of Humans

 _How to get a Winchester out of the dumps—and why internet research is not the best idea_

Dean had been melancholy since Castiel had started working with him now that Sam was off on his own. Castiel wanted to cheer him up; unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea how to do this. So he decided to try researching on the 'internet' as Dean had been showing him how to do for their hunting excursions.

As it turned out you could find out a lot on the internet besides just hunting information. As he searched 'how to cheer someone up when they had relationship problems' he came across quite a few things about 'break-ups' which, after some consideration, he decided was an appropriate way to describe Sam and Dean's situation. So, after several informative essays and some pointers from a site called "WikiHow" which upon exploration, he found to be particularly helpful on multiple levels, he was ready to pick some stuff up and go to Dean's motel room to try and cheer him up.

Dean opened the door to the motel room to find Cas standing there with several bags and a small smile on his face.

"Hello Dean, I saw that you have been upset about Sam lately and I wanted to help console you."

"Uh…" Dean began as Cas came into the room, set the bags on the table and wrapped the Winchester in an awkward hug. It was even more awkward because Dean just stood there with his arms at his sides. Cas pulled back, making sure not to hold the hug too long so it didn't get awkward like an article he read said, and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder instead with a serious expression on his face. "I just want you to know, I'm here for you, Dean. If you need to talk, let me know."

"Cas what the hell is this?" Dean demanded as the angel pulled several things out of the bags—chocolate, lots of chocolate—and then the angel went into the kitchenette and found a mug next to the coffee pot. He poured water into it while Dean watched and he opened a box of chamomile tea, plopping in a tea bag and putting it into the microwave.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean finally asked.

The angel retrieved the tea when the microwave dinged and put it into Dean's hand after he pushed him into a chair. "This will relax you. I'm trying to help you through your trying times."

"Dude, I don't drink tea. Where's the beer?"

Cas leveled a serious gaze at him. "Alcohol is never the answer, Dean."

"Okay," Dean muttered, setting the mug on the table and leaning forward with his hands clasped, elbows on his knees. "What is this about, Cas?"

Castiel sat down as well, across from Dean, but making sure he was not invading his 'personal space'. "I know you're upset about Sam, Dean. I'm just trying to help you. If you don't want the tea, I also brought ice cream. I read that that was a common break-up comfort food."

"Break-up?" Dean asked, groaning and rubbing a hand over his face. "Cas, I'm not a teenage girl who lost her boyfriend. My brother has decided that he no longer wants to do the same thing that I do, and I decided that was best since I'm not sure I can trust him. You can't just fix that with ice cream."

Cas cocked his head sympathetically. "That's good, though, Dean. Talking about it will help."

"Cas, really, I'm fine."

"Perhaps some distraction?" Cas asked. "I also read on another site that suggested something called a 'chick flick' though I don't understand how risking injury to baby chickens would help anyone deal with their emotional distress."

"Cas," Dean held up his hands. "I am good, okay? I can deal with this."

Remembering something else he had read, Cas asked, "Do you need private time? I can leave, if you need your space."

"I don't…" Dean shook his head. "Cas, dude, I appreciate you trying to help, but this is just something that Sam and I are going to have to work out together eventually after we've both had time to clear our heads, okay?"

Cas sighed, feeling a bit helpless, before he turned back. "Perhaps you can tell me what I can do for you? If you need anything?"

"For starters," Dean said. "Maybe you can stop researching things on the internet."

"Oh," Castiel said, thinking that might be best.

"I will have the ice cream though," Dean added.

Cas gave a small smile and pulled one of the bags over next to them, taking out two different flavors of ice cream. "I wasn't sure what you would like."

"I think I can do some Moose Tracks," Dean told him and went to get two spoons before coming back to the table and opening both cartons of ice cream and handing one spoon to Cas. The angel stared blankly.

"But I don't eat…"

"Cas, just try it," Dean insisted and the angel took the spoon and dug cautiously into one of the ice cream flavors. It was cold and rich, but pleasant.

"I see why this helps a human feel better. It has a certain optimistic effect upon the mind." That was until he took too much and it felt like his brain was exploding.

Dean laughed. "Brain freeze. Take smaller bites. Now come on, we're not watching a chick flick, but we can see if something good is on TV since you're here and nothing is going on right now." Dean got up with his ice cream and went over to the couch in the motel room, motioning for Cas to join him. "But seriously, if you ever tell anyone we watched a movie and ate ice cream like teenage girls, I will trap you in holy fire."

"Of course, Dean," Cas said as he enjoyed the ice cream, and watched the movie Dean had found. Mostly he was just watching the elder Winchester though. Even if he had been a bit misguided finding information on the internet, it seemed to work at least a little, and that was all that mattered.


	3. Good Intentions

**This was the companion mini shot to the previous one, kind of in the same vein. Essentially, it's just crack.**

 **Thanks to my guest reviewer Katy for your review as well!**

 **Charatcers/Setting: Dean, Cas / Somewhere in S8**

 **Genre: Crack, humor**

 **Rating: K+ (because angry Dean is vocal Dean)**

Good Intentions

 _How to treat a hypothermic Winchester—and how ungrateful they are about it_

Dean woke blearily. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, all he knew was that he had been cold. Freezing. So very frozen, in fact that he couldn't feel the cold after a while. He thought he might have been hunting something. Remembered ice, a door closing, seeing a lot of frozen food…and then that was all he remembered.

But now, he was warm. Very much so, in fact. That was the first thing he realized. He hummed tiredly, too exhausted to pay much attention to the change in his surroundings, figuring Sam had probably just dragged him back to a motel and packed him into bed with a ton of blankets. He was about to drift off again, not really caring about waking up if he was out of danger.

But then he realized the second thing. And the second thing was very important.

Sam was sick back at the bunker. He hadn't come on this hunt at all, so how could he have dragged Dean back to a motel and warmed him up. On top of that, he felt suddenly constricted, like he was bound.

His eyes flew open, hands scrambling against whatever was restraining him—a sleeping bag, he realized with confusion as he felt the silky fabric—and when he looked down he realized he was wearing no clothes. Crap.

Well, okay, he had his boxers on but that didn't count. Someone had undressed him. Someone who's origin he wasn't aware of. This was why he always watched his drinks at bars.

"The hell?" he mumbled.

"Dean, hold still."

He froze as the gravelly voice spoke close—way too close—to his ear, the sound rumbling against his back.

"Oh hell no," Dean muttered. "Cas, _what the actual hell_?"

"Dean, calm down, you almost died."

"Where the hell are my clothes?" Dean screeched, trying to flail but something was wrapped tightly around his chest and only squeezed tighter. One of his flailing hands hit skin that wasn't his and he stopped, craning his neck as far as it would go to look back at the angel, seeing a bare shoulder—also not his. "Oh my God," Dean said, his voice a croak. "Cas… _where the friggen' hell are your clothes?!"_

"Skin to skin contact is the best way to treat hypothermia, Dean. Besides we still have on our undergarments…"

"Oh, holy hell you did not just say 'skin to skin contact'." Dean groaned, continuing his struggling. He realized then that he and Cas were somehow both smashed into the back bench seat of the Impala. How that was even physically possible, he didn't know, all he knew was that his supposed Guardian Angel was going to new lengths that involved nonconsensual spooning and he was not happy about it. "Why is this my life?" He muttered against the leather of Baby's seat.

"There was nothing else to do, Dean, the ghost locked you in that freezer. You're lucky Sam insisted I go after you to help on the hunt. I got there just in time but you were still very hypothermic. I was only doing what was necessary to save your life. I don't see why you're so upset."

"Upset?" Dean screeched. "I wake up half naked and forcibly cuddled by a dude and you don't think that's upsetting?"

"It's a common survival technique, not 'cuddling', and you have to admit that you are much warmer, sharing my body heat, are you not?"

"Cas, just stop talking," Dean pleaded.

They were silent for a long moment, neither of them moving.

"Cas," Dean finally said.

"Yes, Dean."

"Can you please get off of me?"

"Are you warm enough?"

"Yes," Dean gritted out.

"Let me take your temperature first…"

"Cas, get the hell off of me!"

"As you wish, Dean."

Cas unzipped the sleeping bag and for a minute, Dean actually regretted the loss of warmth.

But just not that much. This was the last case he was ever going to take that he could get possibly hypothermic in. Well, at least Sam wasn't there so he never had to find out…

"I already called Sam and told him that once you were warm, we would go. You don't mind if I drive?"

Dean was an angry burrito in his sleeping bag, glaring up at the angel who had moved to the front, already mojod back into his clothes and trench coat. Great. Sam knew. This day was just getting more and more awesome.

"Whatever," Dean grumbled, shivering slightly again.

"I'll stop and get you a coffee on the way back," Cas told him as he started the car and turned the heat up full blast.

Dean grunted. Cas was not going get him to forgive this. Never.

"You had better get me some pie with that coffee," he growled.

Cas nodded in acceptance and continued driving.

Dean didn't meet Cas' eye for a week afterward.


	4. There'll Be Peace

**Okay, so this is a bit of a change-up since the last few have been humor pieces. Warning: this IS a deathfic, so if you don't like reading those, I'm sorry. But it is a lighter deathfic with a happy ending, definitely bittersweet and kind of turns downright cheesy. I really don't write deathfics, but this one just kind of came to me when I saw a thing online about Crowley that inspired part of this. So I hope you all enjoy it anyway, even if it's kind of sad.**

 **Characters/ Setting: Sam, Dean, Cas, Crowley / Somewhere in the future**

 **Genre: deathfic, family (feels)**

 **Rating: T (some gore, but not explicit)**

There'll Be Peace

 _Team Free Will finally shuffles off this earthly coil._

It had been a long fight; bloody, hard. The hardest they had ever fought. But it was finished now. The evil had been vanquished and all was well. In fact, Dean realized just how finished it was as he lay slumped on his side, panting in the sudden stillness of a battlefield where the battle had come to a conclusion.

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself into a semi-sitting position, feeling the heaviness of his body. He cleared his throat, something thick and metallic bubbling up into his mouth. He spit and red spattered the ground. Hardly surprising. He was currently bleeding out from the gut, one hand thoroughly occupied with holding his insides in. But for some reason, he just couldn't care right now. He'd had a feeling this would be their last fight and he had made his peace with that. He was just thankful they had all gone together. The three of them. That meant no one sticking around to bring anyone back. It was best this way, and really, they could all use a good, long rest.

He was lying beside the left wheel well of the Impala. Baby had taken her own hits in the fight, protecting her charges through the initial barrage and keeping them alive long enough to finish the baddie off. Dean settled a bloody hand against her once sleek and now crumpled flank and mustered a smile. "You did good, Baby. Glad I had you with me at the end of the line."

But it wasn't the end of the line yet. Not quite. Dean swung his head tiredly around to the other two still figures. His brothers. The two who had been beside him this whole time. Dean mustered the last of his strength to reach their side, feeling slightly alone where he currently was sitting a few feet away. His left knee was screwed to hell, but he managed to drag himself, even if it was a painfully slow process.

Castiel was the one he reached first. The angel, their guardian, had been the first to go, taking a mortal blow for Dean. He lay on the ground, trench coat spattered with blood, and burned wingmarks spread out on either side of him, hand still curled around his angel blade. Dean sighed and gripped that hand, angling it up to place against Cas' chest in the pose of a resting warrior.

"Aw, Cas," he muttered, looking down at the still form of the angel who had become his best friend, and his surrogate brother. He somehow knew that Cas would have a peaceful death this time. No more painful resurrections, no more wondering if he were cursed. Dean just hoped there was a possibility that they would get to meet on the other side. After everything they had been through together, he thought God could at least make an exception in this case, even if angels didn't have heavens like humans did.

He reached up and cupped one side of Cas' face. "I hope you find your peace, brother," he said gently.

A sudden cough from behind startled him and he turned to see Sam shuddering. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he quickly pulled himself the last few feet to his brother. He had mistaken Sam to have already left him, but his little brother was still holding on after all.

"Dean," Sam moaned, eyes fluttering before he choked, blood glossing his lips, his body shuddering, even though Dean was pretty sure with his wound, he couldn't move anything below his waist.

Dean was at his side now though and slumped beside the younger man, taking Sam's bloody hand in his own and squeezing with all the strength he had left. "Hey, Sammy, I'm here, it's okay," he said, smiling through wet eyes.

"De," Sam whispered, eyes finally opening to look up at his brother, but they never focused. "Can'…can't see you."

"It's okay, just close your eyes, little brother," Dean told him, reaching up to smooth the hair from Sam's forehead. "You don't have to see me, I'm not going anywhere."

Sam coughed again and tried to force a wry smile. "Don't think I'm goin' anywhere either, Dean."

Dean gave a watery smile even though Sam couldn't see it. "No, Sammy. Not this time, kiddo. This is the end of the line, little brother."

Sam's eyes fluttered again and he stirred, trying to crane his head to one side. "Cas?"

"He's already gone, Sammy, he's waiting for us." Dean fought to keep his tears at bay, chuckling instead. "Probably getting impatient."

Sam chuckled but ending up choking instead. Dean used his sleeve to wipe the blood from Sam's mouth. His eyes finally managed to open and this time they focused on Dean. "I'm…proud of us."

A tear slid down Dean's cheek finally, as he smiled. He leaned down and kissed his brother on the forehead like he was still a child. "Me too, Sammy."

"Gon—gonna make this a…chick flick…Dean?" Sam wheezed.

"Think we're entitled," Dean told him, and Sam chuckled wetly, tears slipping from his eyes. He squeezed Dean's hand surprisingly hard.

"Don't leave me," he whispered. "Don't…don't wanna go…without you…D'n."

"Don't worry, Sammy, I'm not gonna leave you," Dean assured him. "I'm right behind you. Trust me." Blood was bubbling up in his throat again and his body was feeling increasingly heavy.

"Okay," Sam said faintly.

"Just…just close your eyes, Sammy. You can rest now," Dean told him.

Sam squeezed his hand one more time before his fingers went lax, and his body stilled in a way that normally would have scared Dean, but now only gave him relief. Now he could let go too.

"Right behind you, little brother," he said before he slumped to the ground, his fingers still clenched around Sam's limp hand. He sighed deeply and reached out with his other hand to grip the sleeve of Cas' trench coat. "I'm coming, Cas. Don't get your feathers in a bunch."

And then the hunter finally closed his own eyes and allowed himself to slip away. This time, for good.

* * *

The King of Hell found them there, the two brothers, the angel, and their car, and he had to shake his head at the sight. Crowley knew as well as they did that this would be the last time. It almost made him melancholy to think about it—if he was the type to get meloncholy. They had been the best enemies and the best frenemies he had ever had in his long centuries as a demon. He wasn't even truly ashamed to admit that he was kind of sad to see them go. Life would be a lot more boring without them, that was for sure.

"You bastards," he muttered under his breath, then sighed deeply. He supposed the least he could do was give them a proper send-off. If for no better reason than to hope they never came back again. He looked down at the three bodies, Dean between Sam and Castiel, holding on to both of them, and knowing he was probably the last one to shuffle off this mortal coil. Always too stubborn for his own good.

He then turned to the Impala, and saw that she was damaged beyond the help of anyone but Dean. It was really more fitting this way, Crowley decided. It wouldn't be right for anyone else to drive her. Not that he was sentimental or anything, just…it didn't seem right.

With a snap of his fingers, the three warriors were slumped inside the car, Dean in the driver's seat, Sam riding shotgun, and Castiel in the back. If it wasn't for the blood, they may have looked like they were taking a nap. Crowley rooted in the crumpled trunk of the Impala and found some lighter fluid, which he liberally poured over the vehicle, then reached into Dean's jacket pocket for his lighter, which he flicked on and then threw into the seat beside him.

No one else was around to care, or to attend this private hunter's funeral for three heroes who had saved the world countless times, even though so many people had them to thank for everything. There was no one to mourn, no one to write their stories or sing their exploits like in the old days, and soon there would be nothing left of them to find on the physical plane but ashes.

And though the King of Hell did not shed a tear for them, he stayed and watched the fire until it was out, and then he drank a silent toast to their names.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes to a stretch of road ahead of him. He blinked, wondering for a moment where he was, and then remembered—he was dead. At least he was pretty sure of it this time.

He was sitting at Baby's wheel, and she looked beautiful, as pristine as the day he had finished rebuilding her the first time. He likewise, was free of blood and wounds, his clothes clean and whole.

But there was still something missing.

And then the passenger door gave a familiar screech as it opened and Sam slid inside, grinning.

"Hey, jerk," he said.

"Hey, bitch," Dean replied, his chest swelling with relief and happiness, but not quite complete yet. He and Sam both looked around, in the back seat, out at the road ahead of them, and as the seconds passed, they became more and more melancholy.

Finally Sam spoke. "It never was a sure thing, Dean."

Dean swallowed hard but nodded admittedly. "I know. I just kinda hoped, ya know…?"

And then the back door opened and another figure slid inside, causing the brothers to turn with surprise and joy to see the third member of their family sitting in his usual place, trench coat and tie and all.

"Cas!" they exclaimed.

The angel smiled broadly. "Sam, Dean."

"We weren't sure you would…you know," Sam said.

"I was offered two choices," Cas told them. "Resurrection or to stay here with you."

Dean's heart swelled at the realization of what Cas had chosen. "Cas, you didn't…"

The angel looked at him, and for the first time, Dean actually realized he was at peace. "My mission is finished. I just want to rest now. It will be….a nice change, I think."

"Agreed," Sam said.

"Hell yeah," Dean added, and reached into his pocket for the keys, holding them up. "Everyone up for a drive?"

"Drive," Sam told him with a grin.

Dean turned the key and Baby's engine rumbled to life, sounding as happy as the rest of them felt. Dean flipped on the radio to the opening lines of "Carry On My Wayward Son" and then he turned to his two brothers with a grin and tore down the road, the three of them finally at peace.

* * *

 **Yeah, the end was cheesy…**

 **So just a note about the Christmas request fics: I will be posting them throughout the month whenever I finish one, and I will be posting them in the same collection as last year: "Christmas One Shots" so that is where you will find them :)**


	5. Fledging

**After that last one, which apparently made everyone cry, I decided a little fluff was in order. This was just one I wrote one day when I wanted some big bro Gabe and fledgling Cas :)**

 **Characters/ Setting: Gabriel, Castiel / WAY Preseries**

 **Genre: Family, fluff**

 **Rating: K**

Fledging

Castiel groaned in discomfort as he lay on his stomach in bed, his tunic discarded so his wings would be unhampered. They were spread miserably across his back, the cause of his discomfort. He was hardly a fledgling anymore, and that was the problem. All his baby plumage was in the process of being replaced by his adult feathers and it was not an enjoyable process. The new feathers hurt and itched constantly as they grew in and as a result his whole back ached which only made him grumpy and snappish. All his peers were in the same boat, and of course this did not sit well with a certain archangel who shared the duty of looking after and training the fledglings. So he decided it was time to do something about it.

Castiel groaned into his pillow as he heard the door to the dormitory open and heard Gabriel's cheery whistling.

"Cassie, what are you doing in here on such a nice day! You should be out training with the others."

"Go away," Castiel muttered.

Gabriel stopped by his bed and bent to peer into his face. Castiel narrowed his eyes and glared at him.

"Sheesh, you look awful. I know fledging isn't fun, but you don't have to be so anal about it."

Castiel turned his head away from his big brother, and wished he would just go away. Of course, Gabriel only took that as in invitation to sit down on the edge of the bed, gathering up a few downy feathers that had fallen out of Castiel's wings.

"Hmm, You know, I know something that might help turn that frown upside down!" Gabriel said, waving the feathers he held and Castiel could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Gabriel, no," he moaned, knowing all too well what was coming.

"Gabriel, yes," Gabriel replied teasingly as he wiggled the feathers against the back of Castiel's neck, where, to his shame, he was very sensitive. There had been many a tussle lost when Gabriel had found out all he had to do was touch the back of the younger angel's neck and Castiel would instantly lose all concentration and scrunch up protectively. Castiel squinched his shoulders up now at the unwelcome tickling and tried to shift away from Gabriel.

"Come on, Cassie, don't be like that," Gabriel said, tickling more in earnest now. He moved down to Castiel's shoulder blades and Castiel groaned and jerked away, the movement sending aches through his wings and back.

"Gabriel stop, my back hurts!" he moaned, kicking at his brother.

Gabriel took the feathers away, much to Castiel's surprise. "Sorry bro." He brought the feathers back to Castiel's neck and then wiggled them against his nose too.

"Gabe, stop!" he cried and his wings jerked instinctively and clobbered Gabriel in the face, causing the archangel to splutter in surprise and stop tickling his younger brother.

"Wow, those sure pack some punch now. You're gonna have some strong wings there, little bro."

Castiel moaned, not caring at the moment. "I just want them to stop hurting. And they _itch_." He knew he was whining, but they were so uncomfortable at the moment that he couldn't help it.

Gabriel suddenly took pity on the younger angel, knowing exactly what he was going through, and ruffled his hair fondly. "They will. It will only be another week or so before all the new feathers come in and after that, you get to start flying lessons! And boy, is that a hoot!"

Castiel grunted noncommittally, not looking forward to much of anything at the moment.

Gabriel huffed. "But until then, let me show you what worked for me."

Castiel waited in bed as Gabriel left to get something, and was surprised when he came back, not with something else to torment him with, but something to help. Gabriel set down a steaming bowl of cloudy water on the side table and wet several cloths in it before laying them down over Castiel's wings. The appendages jerked slightly at the contact, but once the warmth crept in, he gave a moan of relief, sinking further into the bed.

"Better?" Gabriel asked, pleased by Castiel's nod. "Oatmeal water. So simple, but effective." He took up another cloth and bathed Castiel's back around his wing joints with it, the warmth soothing the ache that had been present for days. Castiel sighed and closed his eyes. Gabriel then gently worked his fingers through Castiel's wings, easing some of the more stubborn baby feathers out to make way for the new ones. It wasn't exactly a pleasant process, but once it was done, there was a lot less irritation where new quills were coming in without the old ones still sharing space. Finally when Gabriel was done with that, he rubbed Castiel's back and shoulders lightly and Cas sank further into the bed, cheek propped on his folded arms.

"Feeling better now?" Gabriel asked his little brother.

Castiel hummed in contentment and felt himself drifting off. Gabriel kept up the ministrations until he was sure Castiel was asleep and then replaced the rags with fresh ones before he left, ruffling his little brother's hair fondly one last time.


	6. Vessel

**So this one is a little odd because it's mainly just a conglomeration of headcanons I have about Cas and Jimmy as his vessel. But I hope you guys still enjoy it. I had a lot of ideas about Cas and Jimmy's relationship, and I really wish we got to know more about angels and their vessels besides just having Sam and Lucifer as an example.**

 **Characters/Season: Castiel, Jimmy Novak / Season 4 and onward**

 **Genre: character study**

 **Rating: K**

Vessel

 _Castiel always knew that Jimmy was his true vessel_

Castiel had watched Jimmy Novak for quite a while before he approached him. The angels had lists of people who were compatible as vessels, but _true vessels_ were really something only reserved for the archangels. Lower angels could find vessels to contain them, but it was rare that they found a true vessel.

But as soon as Castiel saw Jimmy Novak, he was aware of a certain connection between them. He had taken vessels before back when the angels walked the earth previously, but he had never felt a connection like this with them. He knew right away that Jimmy was different, and he was positive he would be the one to carry Castiel during his new mission on earth.

XXX

Every angel had a different way of approaching their vessel. Some took their time, but most were very direct. Others would almost force them to say yes, but Castiel found that distasteful. He believed that a great amount of trust needed to be gained between an angel and his vessel and would never consider forcing Jimmy to let him in without his complete and honest consent. He knew acting as a vessel was not always pleasant for the human involved, that it could be very uncomfortable at times, and Castiel never wanted to force that on anyone who wasn't up to the task.

But as he watched Jimmy, he saw he was a truly devout man, a believer, a good father and husband, and Castiel was warmed by watching this man with his wife and daughter. Castiel could see how important family was to Jimmy. Many angels would probably use that as a selling point, tell him that war was coming and they would keep his family safe if he gave his consent to be a vessel. Castiel would obviously assure Amelia and Claire's safety, but he would not lead with that. He wanted it to be Jimmy's choice alone.

The first time he approached Jimmy, the man wasn't quite sure what to think. In retrospect, Castiel had to sheepishly admit he had come on a little stronger than he had intended since he had practically caused the man seizures. He had never been particularly good at speaking or approaching people, always slightly awkward, so maybe he had overdone it a bit.

But the next time went better, and after talking to Jimmy several times and asking him to perform tests of his faith, Jimmy Novak offered his consent to be Castiel's vessel.

It had been millennia since Castiel had taken a vessel, and it usually took some getting used to, but Castiel felt right in Jimmy's body, more than he had ever felt in any vessel before. Even after his wings had been damaged rescuing Dean from hell, they had never felt cramped in Jimmy's body. He knew Jimmy was torn, leaving his family, but Castiel assured him he would do everything in his power to keep them safe while Jimmy wasn't there, and after that promise, he felt Jimmy relax and tucked him away so he could do his work in preventing the coming apocalypse.

XXX

Castiel always tried to protect Jimmy from the wears a vessel could sometimes collect. He sustained Jimmy's tucked away soul with his grace, since Castiel didn't require food or sleep, so if he left his body, Jimmy wouldn't be so worn down. When Castiel was injured he would wrap his grace around Jimmy to shield him from the blows and keep him unconscious until he had finished healing his vessel. The body may have been Jimmy's but the pain was Castiel's and he saw no reason to make Jimmy experience it too.

Most of the time, he kept Jimmy in a comfortable corner of his mind where his happiest memories played. Sometimes, when Castiel had free time—even though that was a rarity—he would watch the memories with Jimmy, feeling his happiness as the human replayed memories of himself with Amelia and Claire. Castiel was fascinated by the simple things that could bring humans joy, and found a certain peace and beauty in that, if not without some longing. It was these things that kept him going as the war progressed. These things that made him realize what he truly thought they should be fighting for.

XXX

Then things weren't so good anymore. Castiel wasn't sure where he stood, had disobeyed orders to help the Winchesters. When Zachariah ripped him out of Jimmy's body to send back to heaven for 'reeducation' Castiel could feel his vessel's pain at his sudden, violent expulsion. Castiel never would have left Jimmy so quickly on purpose, knowing it caused pain and disorientation to a vessel, and he somehow knew Zachariah had done it purposefully in order to torture him further.

Just like Zachariah hadn't bothered to block the open channel Castiel shared with his vessel, so while he was in heaven being tortured, he could plainly hear Jimmy's pleas for help, pleas that soon turned to furious rage as his family was attacked and Castiel still hadn't come.

The fact that Zachariah had forced Castiel to break his promise to Jimmy was more painful than any of the physical torments his superior could have come up with.

XXX

When Jimmy lay dying, Castiel couldn't feel much of anything. As he stood over his former vessel in Claire Novak's body he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be feeling _something_ for the fact that he was taking Jimmy's daughter away from him. But he didn't. Zachariah had taken all the caring away from him and his mind felt like a blank slate, still slightly fuzzy from the torments he had suffered.

Still, when Jimmy demanded Castiel take him instead, there was a flare of relief, maybe even some fond pride somewhere in the back of Castiel's mind as he once again settled into Jimmy's body, and left Claire to live her life, feeling a little more like himself.

Castiel healed Jimmy and tucked him away safely once again, and went back to his duties.

XXX

When Raphael obliterated Castiel, Jimmy Novak's soul finally went to heaven. It had been something he couldn't come back from, even though Castiel did, resurrected in Jimmy's now empty vessel. At first it felt lonely, with only the memory of Jimmy and no longer his consciousness, but Castiel was soon glad he had finally found peace. He had deserved it, and Castiel knew that what was to come would only be worse.

XXX

Over the years he never ceased to be grateful for Jimmy's sacrifice to him by way of giving him a vessel that he could use perpetually as his own body. It had been a little strange at first, but Castiel had grown fond of it. It was the form he was always resurrected in without fail. He remembered when Anna had come back with her grace once again in her same human body, she had said she was sentimental; Castiel decided he was too.

When he was human, he truly felt closer to Jimmy than ever before. Felt things the way Jimmy had felt them, and again he thanked the man for giving him a body that he could use. Even when he was tortured and experienced his first death as a human.

Jimmy's body was a strong vessel, lasting through so much. Even with both him and Lucifer inhabiting it. Of course, the things Lucifer did with Jimmy's body made Castiel angry, especially when he threatened Sam and Dean, but never once did the vessel fail and when Castiel was alone again, he gave a silent apology to Jimmy for what he had done.

XXX

He knew it was hard for Claire to see her father's face when she talked to him, but Castiel was determined to make sure that he would never fail in his promise to Jimmy again—even though the first time hadn't been his fault.

Of course, he failed anyway because Amelia was killed and he had been helpless to stop it. But miraculously Claire didn't blame him, so he forced himself to let that one go, even though it was hard.

Bit still, Amelia and Jimmy were both at peace in heaven now, and Claire was starting a new life, and that helped a bit to ease his guilt.

XXX

Sometimes, when Castiel has the chance, and needs to clear his head, he slips into Jimmy and Amelia's heaven, and watches them in their eternal happiness. It reminds him of why he still fights, and how he was still able to do so because Jimmy has given him the gift of a strong vessel so he is able to continue. But most of all, he likes to be reminded that Jimmy Novak, a truly good man, was able to find some peace at long last. And even though his legacy that lives on will never truly be known, Castiel will always be grateful for his true vessel.

It gives Castiel hope that some day he too can find peace.

* * *

 **So, Friday, I'm going to be posting the first chapter of my new S5 fic, so if you're in the mood for some all around TFW whumpage (and some Gabriel and Lucifer on the scene) keep a look out!**


	7. Her Boys

**After last week's episode (12x12 "Stuck in the Middle (With You)") I had to write some tags. I wrote two, this one and one I will post tomorrow. I was so happy with the episode and getting to see some family feels again and the boys refusing the leave Cas. SO MANY FEELS! But I had a couple sort of epilogue ideas for the episode. This one is written from Mary's POV.**

 **Characters/ Setting: Mary, Sam, Dean &Cas / Season 12 (12x12 coda)**

 **Genre: H/C light angst**

 **Rating: K**

 **Warning: obviously, spoilers for the episode, don't read if you haven't watched!**

Her Boys

 _Coda to 12x12 Mary considers what she could have lost that night in the barn._

Mary Winchester sat alone at the table in the bunker's kitchen, a cooling mug of tea clasped between her hands so she could pretend they weren't shaking. All three of the boys, the angel included, were sleeping, but Mary couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Ramiel's gold irises, bringing back so many horrible memories for her. She saw Castiel, writhing in inexplicable agony. She saw Wally's dead body….and if she let herself go too far, she saw what might have been if they hadn't been able to kill Ramiel when they did.

And what had it all been for, after all? Mary's hands clenched around the mug again, knuckles whitening in anger. Those British bastards had given her no heads up, no warning that the demon they had sent her to hunt was a Prince of Hell. They just told her what her job was. To kill him and retrieve the Colt.

Mary finally pried her hands off the mug and carefully reached into her coat to pull out the legendary gun. It didn't look like all that much, no more than any other traditional six-shooter, but if it was really _the_ Colt, then she knew it was powerful beyond imagining. When Mick had told her what she would be retrieving, she had laughed in his face. She had never truly believed that the Colt was actually real, but here it was in her hands and it had almost got all of them killed.

She still couldn't believe her own hesitation. Thinking back on it, why hadn't she just whipped it out and shot Ramiel right there as he smugly held his pocket watch, counting down the seconds before he would kill them? It's what she should have done, what any hunter worth their salt would have, and yet, she had still hesitated because she hadn't wanted the boys to find out what she had done; that she had jumped in bed with the people who had kidnapped and tortured her youngest son. No matter how many times Mary told herself it was for the greater good, deep down, even she didn't believe herself, but now it was too late to pull out. That much she did know.

So she was just going to have to do her best to stay cautious, and make sure her boys didn't get mixed up in anything else. This had been too close of a call and she wasn't going to let that happen again.

She quickly folded the Colt back into the leather wrappings and tucked it back into her coat. She ran a hand tiredly over her face, wishing she could sleep, but knowing well enough that it would be a fruitless venture. Instead she stood up and dumped the cold tea into the sink, rinsing the cup out. She swallowed hard as she saw there was still some of Castiel's dried blood around her fingernails. She quickly grabbed a brush and scrubbed them raw, the pain feeding into her guilt at what she had almost caused to happen.

She had grown very fond of Castiel, especially after the two of them had worked together to find Sam and Dean when they were kidnapped by the government. If they had lost the angel that night…Mary closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the sink to keep herself upright. Well, she wouldn't have to worry about never forgiving herself, because Sam and Dean certainly wouldn't forgive her, especially after she told them the truth.

She splashed her face with the water and shut it off, grabbing a towel and taking several deep breaths. She leaned against the counter for a moment, trying to collect herself, and then decided she needed to check on the boys, just to make sure they were still all right. It was part of the reason she had decided to stay in the bunker that night instead of heading out right after the hunt. All of them had been pretty shellshocked after this one, and Mary wanted to make sure she wasn't needed.

She quietly headed toward the dormitory wing, coming to Sam's room first. She noticed the door was already cracked open, probably because of Dean checking on his brother, and she pushed it open to see Sam's tall figure sprawled in the bed. His computer was open next to him as if he had been researching, and she smiled fondly as she went into the room and carefully closed the laptop and set it on his desk. Then she pulled the blanket over his bare feet, remembering the last time she had tucked Sam in—the night she died—and the lump that formed in her throat at that thought threatened to choke her.

She quietly left the room, leaving the door cracked as she had found it, and crossed the hall to Castiel's room.

She knew the angel didn't usually sleep, but after his ordeal, he was obviously still weak, as he had mumbled something about resting when they got home and cleaned up. Still, she was surprised when she peeked inside the room and actually saw him curled on his side under the blankets, breathing deeply in slumber.

She wasn't surprised to see Dean there though. Her eldest son had pulled a chair over to the side of Castiel's bed, his head was dipped toward his chest, dead to the world. She knew that Sam would have been there too if Dean hadn't ordered him off to bed with probably more authority than she ever could have mustered. Mary had quickly seen the dynamic between her sons and the angel. No matter the lack of blood between them, the three were brothers and they would likely challenge anyone who dared to say differently. And after Castiel's proclamation earlier that night when he thought he was dying, Mary had no doubt that he felt the same. So if she had started to privately think of the angel as one of her boys too, she didn't really see the harm in it.

She crossed the room to the bed and took a moment to stare curiously at the sleeping angel, curled up almost in the fetal position, one hand tucked under his cheek. It just seemed so odd to see Castiel like this, but he had been through hell that night, and though his wound was healed, Mary knew there was more to it than that. She could tell by the paleness of his complexion, and tightening around his eyes even in slumber, as well as Dean's refusal to leave him alone. But as long as Castiel knew he had family to help him through this, Mary figured he would be all right eventually.

She reached out and took hold of the blankets, pulling them up to tuck more firmly around Castiel's shoulders, before she turned to Dean. He didn't look exactly comfortable, but she knew he wasn't going to move anyway, and it was better to let him sleep. So she just pulled an extra blanket off the foot of Castiel's bed and draped it over him. Dean shifted a bit, but didn't wake up. Mary brushed one hand gently through his hair and then left.

By the time she got to the library where she thought she might read some, she was trembling again. She pressed a hand against her mouth and shut her eyes. How could she possibly do this job anymore when she had so much to lose? When her family could get caught in the crossfire? She wished, not for the first time since she had been back, that John were there. Someone she could lean on. But he wasn't, and she was going to have to do the best she could to protect her boys by herself. They deserved so much better than to get caught up in this. Her stupid, _stupid_ mistake.

"Mom?"

She turned, slightly startled to see Dean standing in the doorway, rubbing bleary eyes and looking just about the same as he had when he was four. It almost broke Mary right there, but she somehow held herself together.

"You okay?" Dean asked, nothing but concern on his face. No suspicion, just care. Her stomach twisted sickly, guiltily.

"I'm okay," she informed him, somehow keeping her voice from shaking. "Just…can't sleep."

He nodded in agreement. "I don't blame you." He came toward her and reached out to settle a hand on her shoulder. "You sure you're okay? We all took some hits tonight." The tightness in his voice told of the obvious understatement, and Mary shook her head.

"I'm all right, Dean," she assured him and reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the stubble there that told her he was no longer her little boy after all. "Just go try to get some sleep. I will too."

He hesitated slightly and for a moment, Mary was afraid he might have called her bluff, that he was going to say something about the hunt, but he sagged, still obviously exhausted.

"Okay," he consented, reaching up to rub at his eyes again and stifle a yawn before he met her eyes. "See you in the morning?"

Mary smiled and nodded. That at least was something she could promise. "Of course."

He seemed to relax a little and nodded. "Okay. Goodnight, Mom." Then he turned and went back to the dormitory wing.

"Goodnight, Dean," she replied, then turned toward the table, sitting slowly in a chair. She felt the weight of the Colt resting against her side, and thought of her boys sleeping nearby without any clue as to what she was doing behind their backs.

But she did know one thing, and that was that this was not going to happen again. She would bring the Colt to Mr. Ketch, but when she did, she was going to make sure he understood the terms of her service.

Because she was a Winchester, and she sure as hell was not going to stand for that kind of crap.

And she certainly wasn't going to stand for losing her family.

No, if they wanted to send her into trouble without warning again, they could do it themselves because if they put her family in danger again there would be hell to pay.

* * *

 **Watch out for another coda tomorrow! That one will be a Cas-Centric one.**

 **Also, if anyone ever has any coda ideas for S12 episodes as they air (or even ones already aired) let me know if you want to see anything specific. I can't promise all the ones you give me will tickle my muse, but feel free to leave suggestions in the reviews of PM me if you have any ideas :)**


	8. Hairsbreadth

**Here's the second coda as promised! I'm glad everyone liked the last one.**

 **To my reviewer Guest: I'll see what I can do about that story idea. It would be funny to see Cas' reaction to that ;)**

 **Characters/ Setting: Castiel, Sam, Dean, Mary/ S12 (coda 12x12)**

 **Genre: H/C, fluff**

 **Rating: K**

 **Warning: again spoilers if you have not seen the ep yet!**

Hairsbreadth

 _Coda for 12x12 Castiel may have died several times before, but for some reason his current brush with death rattled him the most._

Castiel stood in front of the bathroom mirror. They were back in the bunker after a long tiring drive, and Sam and Dean had insisted he take a shower to wash the blood off his skin before he go to bed, even though he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and succumb to his exhaustion that went to his very bones.

But he hadn't gotten much farther than taking his shirt off and looking at himself in the mirror. He couldn't help it. Only hours before, he had been mortally stabbed by the Lance of Michael, for all intents and purposes, dead. His body had been inflicted with poison, rotting not only the flesh of his vessel but his grace itself, tearing him apart from the inside out with slow agony. His fingers shakily traced over his now smooth flesh, stopping at the spot right under his ribs that had previously been punctured. There was still blood dried onto his skin, but the flesh itself was repaired. That didn't stop his hand from trembling though.

Finally tearing himself back to reality, he turned his back on the mirror and stripped out of the rest of his clothes, cranking the shower on so hot it was almost scalding. But he was cold, deep inside, and the steaming spray felt good, even if it made his skin pink as he scrubbed the traces of his near death from his skin.

When he stepped out of the shower, he was glad the mirror had steamed over so he didn't have to look at his refection again. He quickly toweled dry and dressed in the clean sleep clothes he had borrowed from Dean until he could get new ones, or get enough power back to repair his ruined ones.

That was another thing. His grace had taken a huge beating. It was going to be days before he got back to full power, and he was secretly worried that he wouldn't be able to. He had been worn down ever since Lucifer had possessed him, but this had only made it worse.

He was still trembling, wondering what was wrong with him, as he stepped out and tried to make his way to his room, when he found Dean and Sam standing in the hallway, helping Mary settle into a room for the night. Castiel had been glad she had stayed. It might have been a weakness, but he wanted his whole family in close quarters tonight so he knew that they were all safe.

Family. His admission to the Winchesters as he lay dying flashed through his mind. It's not that he hadn't realized how he felt for Sam and Dean before, it was just that it had become so much more vital to him that they know it. In the aftermath of Lucifer's possession, when Dean told him he was their brother, Castiel hadn't felt worthy, but seeing Sam and Dean stand with him since then, despite it being somewhat rocky after he had killed Billy, he began to realize, perhaps for the first time, just what it felt like to belong to their family. And he also realized that he needed nothing else in this world. Not Heaven's approval, not even his full powers and his wings back undamaged—just his human family.

Which was why he had felt such terror when he thought he was going to lose them. Lose everything now that he had finally figured it all out.

He suddenly couldn't breathe. Darkness crashed down, closing in on him in a suffocating way, like the dark poison that had nearly consumed him earlier, forcing it's way up his throat and choking him as he prepared himself for the end.

"Cas!"

He felt hands catching him as he fell, arms wrapping around his shoulders before he was sitting on a hard cold surface.

"What's wrong with him?" he heard Mary's voice as if from far away, worry spiking through it.

"I don't know," Dean's voice cut through and Castiel could sense him and Sam on either side of him, hands keeping contact, not letting him go—like they hadn't left him earlier even though he hadn't been so much scared to be left alone as he had been to have to watch them die and then be left alone for good.

With great effort, he forced his eyes opened and looked into the three worried faces around him, his family. He wasn't alone, and they were safe. "I-I'm okay," he forced out.

"You sure?" Dean demanded, worry making his voice rough, hand still firmly clutching his upper arm.

"I'm just exhausted," Castiel said without lying.

Sam and Dean shared a look, so he fought to assure them. "Please, I really am okay, I just need rest. My grace…it's very weak."

Sam's brow furrowed in worry nonetheless. "Okay, Cas. But seriously, man, let us know if you need anything. You…you took a pretty bad hit tonight."

"I am completely healed," he assured them.

"I know," Sam said almost wryly. Castiel thought he knew what the younger Winchester was trying to get across. Just because he was healed physically, didn't mean he was _'okay'._ It only made it worse because Castiel knew that well enough that he wasn't at all okay. He just didn't know why.

"Let's get you up, come on," Dean said decisively and the two brothers pulled him to his feet for the second time that night and Dean's arm stayed firmly wrapped around his back as he led Castiel to his room. Castiel didn't even protest his friend's 'mother-henning'. He was too shaky to stay upright anyway.

Sam stuck close and crossed Castiel's room to his bed, pulling down the covers as Dean eased Castiel down. Castiel felt slightly embarrassed at all the attention, but he could read the relief and aftereffects of worry from both the boys and knew they needed this to remind themselves he was alright. Castiel had witnessed it a million times between the two of them, and actually felt a little touched seeing it directed at him.

Besides, his exhaustion was quickly winning out and he gladly laiy down in the bed as Dean tugged the blankets over him with that gruff yet caring attitude he had, a hand resting on Castiel's shoulder before he reluctantly stepped back with Sam.

"You sure you don't need anything, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel's eyes were already closing but he forced a small smile, shaking his head. "No. Just…rest."

The brothers didn't move for a few seconds, but Castiel finally heard them pad quietly from the room, turning his lamp off after his eyes slipped shut. He was out before he realized it.

* * *

Castiel woke with a guttural gasp, hands clutching his stomach as he bolted upright. He looked down at his shaky fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt but there was no blood there. He yanked the shirt up just in case, but his skin was scarless, no bleeding wound, no suppurating veins of poison eating away at him. It had just been a nightmare.

His mouth tasted like the memory of the poison though, and he decided he needed a drink.

He forced himself from the bed and staggered down the hall to the kitchen. His heart was still pounding from the nightmare, and he was breathing heavily. His hands shook so much that he could barely hold onto the glass as he tried to fill it from the tap.

"Castiel, are you alright?"

He nearly dropped the glass altogether at the voice. He spun around and saw Mary standing there, a robe wrapped around her in the chill of the bunker and worry on her face.

"I-I just…needed a drink," he said.

Before he knew it, she was crossing the kitchen toward him, taking his arm gently and leading him over to the table to sit. He gladly took the seat, and watched as she set about taking a mug out of the cupboard and heating water over the stove. She didn't say anything until there were two mugs in her hands, which she brought over to the table, setting one in front of Castiel.

"I thought you could use something warm," she told him. "Chamomile helps."

The pleasant scent of the tea drifting up with the steam from the cup was already working to calm him a bit. He carefully wrapped his still shaking hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep into him. Until then he hadn't realized he was still cold.

"I couldn't sleep either," Mary told him after a few seconds. "There was…so much that happened tonight."

Castiel glanced across the table to her, seeing a weight on her shoulders that didn't quite make sense to him. Of course it would have rattled her to see a Prince of Hell, reminding her of Azazel, but he couldn't help but think there was something else there too. Something like…guilt. But then, he was not exactly at his best and he may have been mistaken.

"I just…don't understand," he finally said, forcing some of his confusing thoughts to the forefront.

Mary looked up at him, a frown on her face. "What don't you understand, Castiel?"

He shrugged helplessly, trying to make sense of the turmoil burning inside of him. "I'm not…mortal. I will never die of old age—I have already died on several occasions." Mary cocked her head to one side, listening attentively. Castiel looked down into his mug of tea, watching the steam rise lazily. "I…don't understand why tonight…. affected me so much."

Mary reached across the table and put her hand on his. The gesture was motherly and kind, and Castiel felt something start to unwind inside of him. "It would have affected anyone," she told him softly. "There's no shame in being rattled after a near death experience."

Castiel took a shuddering breath. Calling it a near death experience wasn't exactly accurate. He had known he was going to die, and he _would_ have, no way out, no way back. If Crowley—Crowley of all people—hadn't broken that lance, he wouldn't have lasted another five minutes and he knew it.

"Cas? Mom?"

They both looked over at the doorway, to see Sam and Dean standing there, worried expressions on their faces.

"You okay?" Dean asked, glancing between them.

Mary smiled at them and nodded. "We just couldn't sleep."

The two brothers silently joined them, Dean sitting beside Castiel and Sam sitting beside his mother. Castiel felt oddly relieved to have them near. After the very near possibility of having to watch them be killed as he sat dying, unable to protect them, he really would prefer not letting them out of his sight for a few days.

"It was a rough night," Dean commented, and the dark circles under his eyes told Castiel that he hadn't slept much, if at all, either.

"Did you get any rest?" Sam asked anxiously, a frown between his brows. "You still look pretty wrung out."

"I—tried, but…" Castiel trailed off, slipping his hands from the mug to wrap his arms around himself, the coldness inside returning as the memory of the agony came back to him.

"Nightmares?" Dean asked quietly.

Castiel gave a slight nod, then looked away, ashamed.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Castiel," Mary told him gently. "We all have them."

"Yeah, you know it's part of the gig," Dean offered kindly.

Castiel sighed and stood shakily, his body feeling suddenly confined as he struggled with his inner turmoil again.

"Cas?" Sam asked, standing up as well, quickly joined by the others. Castiel propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, looking at the floor.

"Death has never…scared me so much before," he told them, feeling slightly disgusted by the fact he was even admitting to being scared. But then he remembered that this was his family. Not his angelic one, who would have scoffed and cast him aside for daring to mention fear, but people who knew the feeling and conquered it daily. "But tonight as I was lying there in that barn…" he swallowed hard, wrapping his arms more firmly around himself. "I realized, maybe for the first time what I actually had to lose." He looked up at them finally and saw the sympathy and care on their faces that nearly broke him apart inside. "I—I never thought of it like that before, and it scared me. It also scared me to think that the last thing I would see was the three of you being torn apart."

"We weren't gonna leave you," Dean said firmly. "And I ain't gonna apologize for that."

"No way," Sam agreed with a smile that was mirrored by Mary.

Castiel's heart softened to see their devotion, something he hadn't felt he deserved for a long time, and had just—finally—come to realize that everyone deserved family, even broken, fallen angels. It wasn't fair to anyone if you refused the people you loved the same love in return. He supposed it was their call wether he deserved it or not. "It still frightened me, to think that I could lose all of you so quickly, after everything. Though I think I was also scared because…" he stopped, not sure he could go on with this particular thought.

"Because what, Cas?" Sam asked gently, prompting him to go on.

Castiel fought to find the words, unsure of if he could even say them to these people he loved. But it was the truth, and he had already spilled his heart out to them earlier, so what did it matter now if they knew this too?

"Perhaps it's also because…" he started and stopped again, swallowing hard and casting his eyes down, not able to look at any of them as he said this. "Because this is the first time in a long while I have actually _wanted_ to survive."

He heard Sam's inhale and Dean's soft curse. He could feel the sympathy coming from Mary, even though he knew she didn't know the details behind his confession.

It was only a second before Dean stepped forward and Castiel looked up in time for his friend to wrap him in a firm embrace. Castiel was stiff with surprise for only a second before he relaxed against Dean and returned it. It felt good, safe, comfortable, to be wrapped in the arms of a brother. It reminded him of a few rare occasions when he was a fledgling and elder brothers or sisters had still had time to show him affection. He was somewhat ashamed to admit he wanted to stay like this for a long time, but when Dean pulled back and met his eyes, hands still gripping his shoulders, he could only listen to what the hunter had to say.

"Don't you _ever_ feel like that again, Cas," he said firmly, emotion making his voice slightly hoarse. "You have everything to live for, man. We are your family; we love you too."

Hearing those words from Dean in response to his own from earlier, surprised him, but also made him feel warm inside. Finally, for the first time since he had been wounded, the coldness was leaving.

"Definitely," Sam agreed and stepped in to take Dean's place, pulling Castiel against him. "We want you here, Cas. Don't ever forget that; you always have a place here."

He could not fathom the feeling of peace washing through him for the first time in so long, which only increased as Mary too stepped forward and embraced him gently.

"If I've learned anything by watching the three of you together it's that you do belong here with Sam and Dean, Castiel," she said with a smile.

"You too, Mary," Castiel told her, remembering their conversation shortly after Mary had come back, wondering if she would ever belong. "You belong here too."

Sam and Dean nodded in agreement and Castiel simply closed his eyes and basked in the warm feeling that family gave. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he too, felt that he actually belonged somewhere.

* * *

 **Rememebr, if you have any more S12 coda ideas, let me know :)**

 **In the meantime, if you want more fluffy, happy 12x12 feels, check out "Too Close" by Aini NuFire and "Breathe in Deep" by 29Pieces ^_^**


	9. Are Your Ears Burning?

**So, after watching Episode 18 (SPOILER warning btw) I started to think about just what Ketch might overhear the Winchesters talking about through the bug he put under their table, and then of course there was the chupachabra blooper, and that just started this whole thing off. I hope you might find it amusing. It was kind of creepy writing from Ketch's POV o_0**

 **Characters/ Setting: Ketch, Sam, Dean/ S12 (Tag to 12x18)**

 **Genre: Crack, humor**

 **Rating: K+**

Are Your Ears Burning?

 _Ketch is beginning to really regret putting a bug in the bunker (Tag to 12x18)_

It _was_ a good tactical measure, he wasn't going to go back on that. It was imperative that they know what the Winchesters were planning, where they would be hunting; all the better to keep track of them if they needed to be taken out. But Ketch had to admit that sometimes he really, _really_ , regretted bugging the bunker.

For instance, when they first got back and he finished debriefing them over the phone, they ended the call and instantly started insulting him.

 _"Can't even say 'chupachabra' right,"_ Dean snorted.

 _"I know,"_ Sam agreed.

Then Dean started doing an incredibly bad British accent.

 _"Yes, I love some crumpets after I hunt chupachabras,"_ Dean mocked. " _What a dick. I mean, Mick is bad enough, but at least he's not quite up there on the level of duchery that Ketch is. I mean seriously."_

 _"Agreed,"_ Sam pitched in. " _Mick might actually not be so bad of a guy deep down, but Ketch is a pure sociopath."_

Ketch narrowed his brow. Obviously, he had been called worse, but he didn't particularly appreciate having to listen to the two Americans insult him either. And what was wrong with how he said chupacabra?

 _"I mean it, next time we have to work with him, I'm keying his motorcycle on principle."_

He most certainly would not if he wanted that lumbering, American-made scrap heap to stay in one piece. Ketch then had to endure more of Dean's horrific British impressions and completely unnecessary Downtown Abbey jabs while Sam snorted laughter like the trained monkey he was, before the Englishman went to find an underling to take over the job of listening for a while.

XXX

Several days passed and nothing of any real import came up. There was some talk of researching cases and Kelly Kline, but neither had apparently found anything, so Ketch began to make tallies for his own amusement.

His first running tally was for how many times Dean called that halo and left a message. Wherever the angel was, Ketch wasn't exactly surprised it wasn't replying to the elder Winchester's constant nagging. It was grating, and Ketch still didn't understand their attachment to the halo, but then, people could become fond of their pets, he supposed. He hadn't had any pets as a child, so instead he collected bugs and pinned them to boards, and captured frogs for dissection. Of course he'd never become _attached_ to them. That would have been ridiculous.

His second tally involved how many times he heard them open beers. Honestly, he began to wonder how they were even still functioning with how much liquor they consumed. They must go through at least twenty six-packs a week, and that wasn't even counting the whisky Dean consumed. Ketch decided that if he had to shoot the Winchesters, he wanted to dissect Dean to see if he had a magically enhanced liver. He supposed it was entirely possible considering everything else the Winchester had survived.

Oh bollocks, there he went calling the angel again.

XXX

" _Dude, what the hell happened to my shampoo?"_

 _"What shampoo?"_

 _"You know exactly what shampoo, Dean!"_

 _"Oh, you mean the special secret shampoo that you swore didn't exist?"_

Ah, he _knew_ Sam Winchester had some kind of secret hair-care product. No one's hair was that good without a lot of work.

 _"Dean, come on, just tell me what you did with it!"_

 _"The only thing I gotta say is that that stuff is magic. It makes you silky smooth…everywhere."_

 _"Oh god, Dean, why are you so disgusting?!"_

 _"Hey, why do you have to hide the good stuff. Don't I deserve good shampoo too?"_

 _"Dude, your hair it like, one tenth the length of mine! You don't have problems with tangling!"_

 _"My god, you are such a chick! I keep offering to take some scissors to your mop, Sammy, but you don't like the idea."_

 _"My hair looks good like this!"_

 _"Whatever, Fabio."_

 _"Dean, get back here! That bottle was almost full, you couldn't have possibly used all of it. Dean! Dean! Dammit, what did you do with my shampoo?!"_

Ketch muted the connection as cursing and scuffling could be heard and lowered his head into his hands.

Sometimes he truly regretted having to shoot Davies. He would have been a lot more suited to this job.

XXX

Day five:

Tally One—Calls to Halo: 24 30

Tally Two—Beers consumed: 86 90 92

XXX

" _Dean, where are you going with the grenade launcher?"_

 _"Um…cleaning it."_

 _"Dude, do. not. take that thing down to the shooting range."_

 _"Relax, Sammy. This is why we have a bunker."_

 _"Dean, you_ cannot _use that thing inside."_

 _"Dean."_

 _"Dean!"_

More scrambling and cursing. Ketch almost wished the grenade launcher would go off if he didn't long for the opportunity to take the Winchesters out himself.

XXX

Ugh. Paperwork. Ketch wondered when headquarters would send another paper pusher. He was really starting to get a dangerous amount of homicidal rage sitting at a desk all day. He really needed to kill something.

At least things at the bunker seemed to be quiet. They must have gone to bed…no, wait…

Oh god, why did Dean always have to watch porn in the library?

XXX

Day 10:

Tally One—Calls to halo: 46 50

Tally Two—Beers consumed: _156_ _178?_

XXX

" _Oh, dude, that is disgusting."_

Ketch had to agree, especially with the revolting moans of pleasure Dean was letting out as he ate—whatever ghastly thing it was he was currently clogging his arteries with. From the nauseating smacking sounds, Ketch could tell he wasn't chewing with his mouth closed either. Vulgar.

 _"Oh, you do not know what you're missing, Sammy. This is literally the best thing known to man. Cronuts, around a sausage patty with cheese and eggs. It's a revolutionary breakfast sandwich. It's almost better than the Elvis."_

 _"That doughnut burger?"_

 _"Um, excuse you, you mean the Elvis. Only the most magnificent food item known to man. Though this…mmph…close second."_

 _"Whatever, Dean. Are you gonna help research or what? Cas has been AWOL too long and we need to get a location on Kelly Kline like yesterday."_

 _"I'm on it, here, look, I'm researching."_

 _"Dude, not on my computer!"_

 _"Well do you want me to help or not?"_

 _"You just got all the keys sticky! Dean, don't touch the screen! Dean!"_

XXX

By Day Twelve, Ketch began adding to the drinking tally himself.

XXX

Day Fifteen:

Sam must be away from the bunker because Dean is blasting rock music and singing along horribly. Ketch had the horrible feeling that he was probably _dancing_ as well.

If Ketch wasn't such a narcissist, he would blow his own brains out if he ever had to listen to Led Zeppelin again.

XXX

Day Seventeen:

He had forgotten the tallies. He had lost interest in it. Today, Dean was obviously in town because Ketch heard Sam give a contented sigh as he sat at the table and pretty soon he heard Downton Abbey playing.

He almost wished he could send a recording of this to Dean.

XXX

Day Twenty:

They were doing the Hoovering. Ketch was surprised. He didn't think they were that domestic. But then, Dean Winchester organized his porn by year, so perhaps he was more obsessive compulsive than Ketch had given him credit for previously.

Of course, Dean's thoroughness wasn't a good thing in this case.

 _"What the hell? Sam!"_

 _"What now?"_

 _"What the hell is this?"_

Silence and then footsteps. _"Um, it looks like a bug."_

 _"I know what it looks like, how did it get here?!"_

 _"Mick."_ Sam spat.

Ketch almost laughed. They still thought Davies was alive. Well, let him take the blame then.

 _"Okay, this has gone on long enough—"_

Ketch covered his ears and quickly muted the volume of the computer as Dean obviously smashed the bug.

Of course, they had been found out, but Ketch was practically giddy.

Maybe now he could go back to doing what he did best. Killing.

He picked up the phone with a smirk, ready to spin a tale. "Yes, director. I have perfect reason to suspect the Winchesters should be taken out as quickly as possible…"

* * *

 **Yes, my newest head canon is that Sam in a closet Downton Abbey fan. Also, I think I hit pretty much every in-joke from the season in this story :P**

 **Now that you've read this, you can check out my S12 story "Family First" if you want something angsty. :P**


	10. Future

**Obviously, a spoiler warning for anyone who has not seen the S12 finale. I just had to get this written ASAP and thought I would post it and hope some fix it and some h/c feels may help you guys a bit because it did help a little bit to write. I'll apologize in advance for typos because I only read over it once.**

 **Also, what we saw of the nephilim at the end of the ep creeped me out so for the sake of this story, he is an adorable little boy.**

 **Characters/ Setting: Sam, Dean, Cas, Jack, Mary/ Coda to 12x23**

 **Genre: H/C fix-it, fluff**

 **Rating: K+**

Future

It wasn't real.

That was Dean's first thought; that surely, this had to be just another horrible nightmare. But really, why should he even bother trying to justify how their lives always went to hell, just when things were starting to look like they were coming together again.

Like, just when he got Mom back—again—she gets tossed into an alternate apocalypse torn universe with a very angry Lucifer.

Like, just when he got Cas back, Lucifer stabbed him in the back.

He was aware of Sam breathing heavily behind him, probably just as unable to process this as he was, but then the lights flickered in the house and Sam turned to look. Dean knew they should go check out the situation, find the nephillim, hope it wasn't going to instantly take after its father, hope they had a chance in hell of reasoning with it, but he couldn't move.

Sam's hand descended on his shoulder briefly, a firm squeeze, and then he was hurrying toward the house.

Dean slowly sank to his knees. He couldn't stand any more. The weight of everything was pressing down on him, not to mention the beating Lucifer had given him. But that, the physical pain, was dull, he couldn't be bothered to care. All he could focus on was his best friend, his second brother, lying there where he had fallen.

"You can't be dead," he whispered, trying to ignore the stab wound in the center of Cas' chest. "You can't _really_ be dead this time, you bastard. I can't…"

Dean stopped, unable to say another word around the pressure in his throat. He sank further, one hand pressing into the ground to support him. He felt something dry and dusty under his palm and looked down to see the burned marks of Cas' wings.

Dean clenched his hand into a fist, a swell of nausea and emotion overwhelming him. "Oh god, Cas," he croaked as he reached out and crushed the lapel of that stupid trench coat in his fist. He curled in on himself, head hanging, as the weight of everything he was feeling threatened to crush him.

"Dean."

It was a wavering, barely whispered call before Dean felt his brother sink to his knees next to him. Sam reached down, touching Cas' cold hand, then shakily took up his angel blade, turning it over in his hands as it glinted in the moonlight.

"Oh god, Dean," Sam said with a shuddering breath.

Dean couldn't offer comfort though. He had none to give. It took all his strength just to raise his head and force out the words, "Let's…let's get him inside."

Sam nodded and had to help Dean get upright first before they both bent and lifted Cas between them.

The angel's head lolled against Dean's chest and he almost broke again, almost collapsed right there, and he knew this time he wouldn't be getting back up. But they somehow made it across the lawn and into the small lakehouse where they carried Cas over to the couch and settled him as gently as possible down on it. Sam tucked a pillow under Cas' head, and Dean folded his hands over his stomach, and for a moment it looked like he was just sleeping. If Dean was that good at lying to himself.

Sam produced Cas' angel blade from his coat where he must have put it earlier. He only just noticed it still had blood on it. Cas' blood.

Sam made a choked sound and hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blade down before he set it gently on the coffee table.

Dean sank into a chair, unable to stay on his feet another second. He would take stock of his injuries, but frankly, he was too tired. Even if he had busted ribs, and internal bruising, he couldn't be bothered to care.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, crouching down beside him. "You're hurt."

Dean wouldn't look at him directly, but he saw Sam's pleading face out of the corner of his eye, wanting to fix _something._

But Dean couldn't give him that. Not yet. "Leave it," he muttered.

"Dean…"

"Just leave it," Dean forced out, his voice almost breaking again. There was no fixing Cas. There was no fixing Mom. And so there would be no fixing him either.

Sam sighed, sagging slightly. "Dean, the kid…I think he's gonna be okay."

"I don't care," Dean told him. And he didn't. At the moment, he almost wished Lucifer's spawn would just wipe them all out. It would be a mercy.

Sam was silent for a long moment before he put a hand on Dean's knee and squeezed. "Okay." He said, his voice wavering, as he stood up and went into another room, leaving Dean alone with Cas' body.

Dean slowly lowered his head into his hands, his body trembling, but he had no outlet for his emotions yet. He still couldn't process. He wondered when he would be able to. When he would finally be able to face the fact that the best friend he'd ever had was dead. And dead for real this time too. He didn't think any of them were getting any more re-dos in the resurrection department.

Somewhere through his grief, he thought he heard Sam say something, and then there was the patter of small feet and a presence beside him.

"You're hurt."

Dean jerked with a start and looked up, finding himself staring into the huge blue eyes of a blond, curly-haired little boy. Sam was standing in the doorway, looking unsure of what to do.

"Are you Dean?" the boy asked.

Dean swallowed hard, before nodding. "Yeah."

"Sam told me about you," the boy said, somewhat proudly. "I can help."

Before Dean could protest, the boy's tiny fingers reached up and touched his forehead and with a surge of warmth that reached from the soles of his feet to the tips of his hair, Dean felt every ache in his body erased.

Dean looked down at the boy, somewhat stupefied. The boy had a pleased smile on his face before it started to turn into a frown. "You're not all better," he stated. "Why do you still hurt?"

"Jack," Sam called, stepping forward and crouching next to the little boy with a small smile. "Why don't we go see if there's something to eat."

But the boy had already turned toward the couch and caught sight of Cas.

"Castiel?" he asked, taking a step toward the angel's body but stopping, casting a confused and scared look between the Winchesters. "I—I can't feel his grace. What's wrong with him?"

Dean was about to open his mouth with a scathingly blunt reply, but Sam shot him a look and turned Jack toward him, taking both his little hands into his own.

"Jack, Castiel…he protected you and your mother. He wanted to keep you safe from…people…who wanted to take you away and do bad things. He…he fought them, and he was hurt really bad." Sam swallowed hard before clearing his throat. "He, um, he died so that you could be safe."

Dean's heart panged at that, at hearing the grief in Sam's voice. He wanted to be angry at the kid for getting Cas killed even if it was inadvertently. But when he looked at how Jack's face scrunched up as he tried to process what Sam was telling him, he couldn't really hate the kid.

Jack pulled his hands out of Sam's and hurried over to the couch.

"Jack," Sam called, standing up again as Dean did the same, stopping a few feet from Jack who was standing by the couch, looking down at Cas' face.

There was a frown of concentration between his brows again, as he reached out to place a tiny hand on the wound in Cas' chest.

"Jack, wait…" Sam tried, but all of a sudden, a blinding light flared up and he and Dean both had to throw their arms over their faces.

When it finally died down, Dean stared, openmouthed, at the little boy, who was still standing next to the couch, but then he saw, rather than heard, Cas heave a breath, and watched in shock and disbelief, as the angel's eyes flew open, glowing gold, then blue, and finally dying down to their natural color.

Cas shot into a sitting position with a gasp, hand clutching at his chest as Jack jumped back a step, slightly startled.

"Cas?" Dean asked incredulously, taking a hesitant step forward.

Cas whipped his head around to look at him and Sam, eyes wide with confusion.

"Sam, Dean, I…what happened?"

"I made you better!" Jack informed him proudly, hopping slightly on his feet.

Cas seemed to see the child for the first time and stared at him in awe, and maybe a little trepidation. "Jack?" he inquired.

The little boy nodded, his curls bouncing into his eyes.

Cas' eyes searched Sam and Dean's. "How long...?"

"Too long," Dean said and finally stepped over to the couch. Sam was right at his side and they both reached down toward the angel. Cas took their hands and allowed them to haul him to his feet. Dean didn't give him the chance to find his footing before he simply grabbed him into a firm embrace, finally letting out the breath he had been holding for too long, feeling the tension and the grief ease out of him.

Cas squeezed back, seeming just as glad to be back in the land of the living as the Winchesters were to have him.

Dean finally let him go, and Sam took his place, relief washing over his face as he folded Cas firmly in his arms.

"It's good to have you back, man," Dean told him, gripping his shoulder.

Cas offered a tired smile, looking around before he frowned. "Where's Mary?"

Dean felt the ache in his chest return, as he cleared his throat. "She went toe-to-toe with Lucifer after he…stabbed you. They both fell into the rift before it closed."

Cas' face was stricken. "Dean, Sam, I'm…I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Dean told him. "But we knew we weren't getting out of this without some casualties."

"We never do," Sam added.

Cas looked toward the stairs with a sad expression, and Dean knew he was thinking of Kelly. He figured Cas had gotten pretty close to her in the past few weeks. He settled a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"We have the kid, though," Dean told him. "Not Lucifer. That's a win."

Cas sighed heavily but nodded. "Yes." He looked around for the little boy and frowned. "Where is he?"

Sam and Dean looked around too, but Jack wasn't in the room, and didn't seem to be anywhere. Dean felt his stomach drop to his feet.

"Jack?" he called.

"Jack!" Cas shouted as the three of them started a frantic search of the house.

That was when the front door opened. "I'm here!" said a child's voice.

The three of them turned to the sound and Dean's breath caught in his throat.

Jack was standing in the doorway, beaming, his hand firmly clutched around the hand of the woman who stood beside him.

"Mom," Sam whispered.

Mary smiled at them as she stepped into the house. "Boys," she looked from Sam, to Dean, to Cas, and then Dean surged forward at the same time Sam did, both of them pulling their mother into a firm hug. Mary pulled Cas into the mix as well, and Dean could finally feel the pieces of his heart start to slowly fuse back together again.

As they stepped back from their happy reunion, Dean felt a small hand slip into his.

" _Now_ you're better," Jack said with a smile.

Dean finally smiled back, and settled a hand into the boy's blond curls. "Yes, I am. Thank you."

Jack beamed and threw his arms around Dean's legs.

"Come on," Mary told the boy, putting a hand on his back. "Let's go find you some supper. I bet you're hungry."

Sam, Dean and Cas were left in the entryway, watching them go, before they turned back to each other.

"So, what happens now?" Sam asked.

Cas glanced toward the kitchen, still seeming to be somewhat at a loss. "I…don't know. I guess try and raise Jack well, how Kelly wanted. Make sure he stays on the right path."

Dean nodded. "You think it's gonna be easy?"

Cas watched as Mary showed Jack how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a small smile crossed his lips. "I think he's off to a good start. And he will have good examples." He glanced between the Winchesters.

Dean had to smile as well, another wave of gratitude and relief washing over him.

"And what about the future?" Sam asked.

Cas was silent for a moment before he said. "I think the future will be what it always is. What we make of it."

Sam and Dean nodded in agreement. "Amen to that," Dean told him.

"Boys, you hungry?" Mary called.

A grin broke out on all three of their faces, and they turned toward the kitchen. Dean felt warmth fill his body, like it had when Jack had healed him, but this time it didn't go away. Whatever the future may hold, he knew that as long as they could meet it together, they would be all right.


	11. Welcome Back, Brother

**First of all SPOILER ALERT for anyone who did not see last night's ep 13x17 "The Thing"**

 **This is partly a Coda for that episode, partly something I *hope* we see in the next episode. Mainly I just needed Cas and Gabriel feels, but oof, our poor archangel :'( So I hope you guys enjoy the little bit of H/c here.**

 **Characters/ Season: Castiel, Gabriel, Sam/ Season 13 (Coda to 13x17 "The Thing"**

 **Genre: Hurt/Comfort, some angst**

 **Rating: K+**

Welcome Back, Brother

 _Coda to 13x17_

"So let me get this straight, Dean's in apocalypse world _alone_?" Castiel demanded, shaking his head. Not that he was surprised that Dean had pulled a stunt like that, but still…

Sam made a sound of annoyance in his throat. "He's with Ketch," he said helplessly.

"Because that makes it so much better," Castiel replied sarcastically, spinning around to face the younger Winchester again. "Why couldn't you have waited for me?"

Sam ran his hands over his face. "Look, I would have preferred you go with him too, trust me, but Dean wasn't waiting around for anyone, and…we've got other problems here."

Castiel inhaled deeply, his stomach twisting, his head still spinning at the news Sam had related to him when he had called earlier. Castiel touched his forehead briefly, trying to push aside his worry for Dean for the moment so he could think.

"Where is he?" he asked softly.

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded toward the dormitory wing. "Come on, I'll take you to him, but, Cas, he's…he looks like he's been through a lot."

Castiel felt his stomach twist again, but followed Sam. No matter his condition, Castiel needed to see his brother. Needed to see for sure that he was alive.

Sam led Castiel to one of the previously unused rooms at the end of the hall and put his hand on the doorknob lightly. He hesitated for a moment, before knocking a couple times, just light taps.

"Gabriel, um, you have a visitor."

There was no reply from inside and Sam gave Castiel a pained look before the angel stepped forward and simply took hold of the doorknob himself.

"Thank you, Sam. I think I'd better speak to him alone."

Sam nodded and retreated back down the hallway with one last hesitant look at the door. Castiel closed his eyes, steeled himself and turned the knob.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight that met him.

It was Gabriel, he could tell. It was his big brother there, flesh and blood; his grace signature familiar, yet somewhat weak. _Alive_.

But nothing about the figure before he reminded him of Gabriel. Not the Gabriel he had known. This was a diminished figure, sitting in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped around his knees, as if he hadn't moved since Sam put him there—and he probably hadn't. He was clean, and dressed in sweat pants and a too-big hoodie, but there were still scabs on his face. And scars. A plethora of scars. And ones that went far deeper than the skin.

But it was his eyes most of all that tore Castiel apart. They were on him as soon as he entered the room, wide with fear, the once-powerful archangel flinching away from his presence as if he expected Castiel to hurt him. As Castiel looked him fully in the eyes he saw everything. Not just the panic, and the pain, and the torment, but the pure brokenness. His eyes had once been warm amber, flashing with life, usually with a good dose of mischief. Now they were dull brown and lifeless. If it wasn't for the feeling of Gabriel's grace, Castiel never would have known this was his brother.

"Gabriel," Castiel somehow managed to choke out as he stepped closer to the bed. Gabriel looked like he wanted to bolt, but Castiel stopped, holding up his hands, and reaching out with his grace instead. He touched Gabriel's with it and almost flinched at the feel of the archangel's grace. It was raw, holes torn from it violently over time, just as scarred as his body. And it was weak, obviously never having had enough time to heal before it was torn apart again. Castiel felt rage boil up inside of him. The next time he met with Asmodeus, Prince of Hell or not, he would make the demon pay for what he did to Castiel's brother.

"Don't, please."

The voice was a whisper, and Castiel realized Gabriel was cowering from him, and he swiftly withdrew his connection with the archangel, realizing that Gabriel must have felt his anger and likely thought it was directed toward him.

Castiel held his hands out again and crouched on the floor by the bed, so he wasn't looming over his brother. "Gabriel, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. You know I would never…never hurt you." He thought wryly that Gabriel was one of the few of his siblings that he _hadn't_ hurt. He'd died before Castiel ruined Heaven—or Castiel thought he had. Now…

"Gabriel, I'm…" he shook his head, closing his eyes and squeezing his hand into a fist as he thought of what he could possibly say. Sorry just didn't seem like enough right now. "Were you…were you with Asmodeus the whole time?"

Gabriel flinched at the mention of the demon, but he didn't say anything, focusing on the wall, refusing to look at Castiel. The lesser angel suppressed a sigh. Sam had said that he'd tried to ask Gabriel what had happened and he hadn't said anything. Castiel could still see the horrific scars on Gabriel's top and bottom lips. Perhaps he still wasn't used to being able to talk.

"Look," Castiel said and tried a smile, even though his brother still wasn't really looking at him. "You don't have to talk now. But I'm here, when you're ready."

Castiel thought that it might be best to leave Gabriel alone again, and he straightened up. But before he left, he reached into his pocket, remembering the small gift he had picked up for his brother. He pulled out a candy bar and slowly set it on the bed, about an inch from Gabriel's hip.

"I know how much you used to like these," Castiel said. "I, um…I figured you probably hadn't had one for a while." He kept his hand on the bed for a long second, before he slowly drew it away. He wanted to touch his brother, another, physical, reassurance that he was really there, but didn't think it would be well received at the moment.

Instead he gave a long exhale and straightened fully. "I'll leave you now. Just…let me know if you need anything."

He was just turning when he heard the soft rustle of blankets and the inhalation of breath before speech.

"Castiel."

It was only a whisper, but it stopped him. He turned back around and saw that Gabriel had shifted, his posture loosening a little bit. One hand cautiously touching the candy bar as if it might disappear any second. Then he raised his eyes and met Castiel's.

"It's good to see you again, bro," he said. The words were a little clumsy, and had only a fraction of the life in them that Gabriel had once had, but Castiel knew a start when he saw it, and he smiled genuinely and stepped back towards the bed. Unable to help reaching out and cupping the side of Gabriel's face.

"Oh, Gabriel," he said softly and slumped onto the side of the mattress, pulling his brother into his arms. Gabriel was stiff at first, his body was frail, barely skin and bones. He was broken, and wounded beyond what Castiel could imagine, but he was alive, and if Castiel had learned anything it was that with life there was hope. And when he felt Gabriel start to shake and tentatively raise his hands to clutch at the back of Castiel's coat before gripping tighter, as if anchoring himself to the real world, to safety, Castiel knew that they would get through this. It might be a long journey, but they _would_ get through this.

"Welcome back, brother," he whispered and held his brother as Gabriel finally broke down into gasping sobs. But Castiel saw it for what it was—relief. The shock was wearing off and soon he would be able to start the journey to get his brother back on his feet. Back to the Gabriel he knew and loved.

They would get Gabriel back, they would get Jack and Mary back, and then finally, they would be a family again.

Because he knew that even if they couldn't be whole separately, then they could at least be whole together.

* * *

 **Next Friday I will be posting the beginning of my new multi-chap fic "Demons Within" it's set in S5 and there will be much angst and Sam whump so check it out if that's the kind of thing you like ;)**


	12. Nightmare Rituals

**This wasn't the one shot I had wanted to post this week, but I didn't get time to write that one, so I thought I'd post a little episode tag kind of introspective piece instead.**

 **Characters/ Season: Sam, Dean, Cas, Jack, and Mary/ Season 13**

 **Genre: light angst, family**

 **Rating: K**

Nightmare Rituals

 _Tag to 13x23: Everyone needs some time to adjust after coming back from the alternate universe._

There was always an adjustment period after a traumatic experience, Sam would think he was an old hat at that by now, but yet, it never seemed to get any easier. New nightmares only ever seemed to drudge up old ones, and make the recovery even longer and more painful to go through.

It was obvious that they were all going to need some time to adjust after coming back from the apocalypse world, but Sam felt that he in particular just couldn't bring himself to feel completely at ease again.

Yes, he had left Lucifer in the alternate universe again, but…the last time they'd done that, it hadn't exactly been permanent. And Sam just had the nagging feeling that he was going to show up again, perhaps while they were out on a hunt, or in town, grabbing food.

Or worse, Sam would wake up from one of his nightmares, and find Lucifer looming over him, red eyes glowing gleefully, just like he had when the evil archangel had brought him back to life in that cave.

That was what he usually dreamed of now. Dying, dragged away from Dean, from his family, as they screamed for him, and he faded. He had felt the vampires feeding off of him…he'd never died like that before and it had been horrific. And then when he had woken up to find Lucifer there, he had thought he was back in the cage. It had been just like when Lucifer would carve the life out of him over and over and over again and then bring him back whole to start all over. And Sam had only agreed to lead him back to camp, as much as he hated to admit it, because he knew Lucifer would have done the exact same thing. He never would have stopped until Sam had given him what he wanted. He would have let the vampires kill him again and again until Sam was finally too destroyed to tell him no, to have to experience that again.

So, yes, it was understandable that he slept poorly now, even though they were safe, back home in their bunker.

But yet…he knew he wasn't alone. Some nightmares might take more time to fade, especially the ones built from truth, but on more than one occasion, Sam had woken to find Dean slumped in a chair beside his bed, or was shaken from a dream by a familiar hand gripping his shoulder, sometimes stroking aside his sweaty hair when his brother thought he was still asleep.

It was enough for Sam to know he wasn't still back there, despite the games his mind played, that he was safe. And though that wasn't much in the scheme of things, it helped.

XXX

Dean and nightmares were old acquaintances. It was easier to count the nights he didn't have nightmares than otherwise. And of course now was no different, it would never be different. Especially if Dean had to keep almost losing people. Hell, he had just about gotten over seeing Cas and Mom dead in his dreams, but now he was seeing his little brother. Again. But this time…dammit, Dean wasn't about to _rank_ their deaths or anything, but Sam jumping into the Cage, it had been painful, definitely, but it wasn't nearly as horrific as seeing his brother set upon by vampires, only feet away from him, and Dean unable to do anything about it. Hearing his little brother call out for him to help and not being able to fly to his aid…that _was_ his worst nightmare, and when it had come true…

Needless to say, Dean wasn't doing much sleeping these days. Most of the time, he would wander the halls of the bunker, but always ended up in Sam's room at some point, brought there by his brother's own nightmares. Most of the time, he would just soothe him into a deeper sleep, something they'd always been able to do, a simple touch to the shoulder to reassure them both that the other was there and anchored to the real world. Sometimes after a particularly bad nightmare, Dean wouldn't be able to leave, so he would pull up a chair and nod off to the beautiful sound of Sam's breathing.

But they weren't the only ones suffering either. Dean knew Mom was having trouble adjusting as well, and why wouldn't she be? She'd just barely gotten used to being back from the dead before she was thrown into an alternate universe, where she was kidnapped and tortured by a psycho angel and then lived on the run in something out of an apocalyptic war movie storyline. He couldn't imagine everything she had seen, but he knew it was bad—it was _always_ bad.

And the kid…Jack had always been so innocent, and in so many ways he still was, but…Dean had seen a dullness in his eyes since he had come back, since he had met his father, and then Lucifer had been left in the alternate universe.

Dean would sometimes find his way to Jack's room during the night as well, if Sam or Cas weren't already there. The young nephillim didn't sleep much, but when he did, it always seemed to be burdened with nightmares.

Dean had grown fond of the kid, and knowing he hadn't been able to protect him from the horrors of war like that, when Jack was still so young... it had broken something inside of him. Seeing Jack so distant, the new anger he exerted on hunts, he would be more worried about Jack's lineage if he didn't see the signs for what they were. He'd been through it before, and so had Sam and Cas. Jack reminded him of himself after he had gotten back from Purgatory. Maybe the kid had PTSD, maybe he was just hardened, but Dean knew he was suffering in his nightmares and the only thing they could do for him was make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

One night, Dean had woken from his own fitful sleep to find his door slightly open and Jack standing there. He was ashamed to admit that his first reaction had been fear, but after seeing the torment in the kid's eyes, he quickly cast that aside.

"I'm sorry," Jack had told him. "I just…wanted to make sure you and the others were all right. When Michael captured me, he…" He had trailed off, unable to finish.

Dean nodded then, understanding completely. "Don't worry about it, Jack. I'm sure that dick messed with your head. You do what you gotta."

Jack nodded and looked like he was about to leave before he turned back. "How do you…how do you make the bad dreams go away?" he asked in a soft, almost pleading voice.

Dean felt a lump start in his throat. "I wish I knew, kid. I wish I knew."

XXX

Castiel didn't sleep, but that didn't mean he couldn't suffer nightmares in his own way. There were long hours of the night he sat and rested, and more often than not, the bad memories came to haunt him.

The knowledge that he had failed to protect Jack like he had promised Kelly ate at him continually. Just seeing what the boy had obviously gone through in Michael's apocalypse world made Castiel's chest ache. The pain, the loss, Jack had suffered was something that was hard to bear for a seasoned soldier like Castiel, let alone someone so young and innocent.

And then he had failed to save Sam too, in that cave. Leaving him there had been one of the hardest things Castiel had ever been forced to do, and the only reason he had was because he knew if he hadn't, if he had fought, then Dean would have been fighting right along side of him and then he would have lost both of his dear friends that day, and perhaps his own life as well. The only thing that had torn him from Sam's side had been the thought of saving Dean.

But now he had also lost Gabriel, just when he had gotten his older brother back, and that hurt more than Castiel could bare to mention even to the Winchesters. He hadn't seen Gabriel's demise, but he recalled the look in Sam and Dean's eyes when they had come through the rift without him. How Sam's hand went to his shoulder with that pained look in his eyes, and Dean's jaw tightened when it did before he relayed bad news. Perhaps the hardest part of it was that he had still expected Gabriel to pop up, cheerily shouting "Not Dead!" because that's what he always did.

Maybe he was even scared of the fact that Gabriel might be trapped in the alternate world still, alive, but unable to come back, stuck there with Michael and Lucifer. Castiel didn't know what was really worse, he just knew that he was exhausted from the haunting, painful memories from that place.

And even now, he heard all of his family suffering from the nightmares born of horrors most humans wouldn't even be able to fathom in their lifetime, and he could do nothing but offer comfort where he could and even that was no permanent fix.

Castiel would give anything to be able to take away the pain that his family suffered.

XXX

But though tough times can be hard to get through, sometimes, they bring people closer too.

Some nights, when no one slept, there was an unspoken invitation where everyone made their way, sometimes in pairs, sometimes at different times of the night, into the library. Dean or Sam might wake, unable to fall back asleep and come to simply sit with Cas, the silent companionship and reassurance that the other was alive helping to dull the terror of the nightmares. Sometimes, Jack would join them, quietly, almost sheepishly creeping in, if he was not joined by Sam or Mary wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders. Sometimes Mary would make tea or hot chocolate for everyone and the warming drinks helped to chase away the icy fear that had wormed its way inside the warriors who had stood to defend everything, and had suffered greatly so that others didn't have to.

They rarely ever spoke, because it was more just knowing everyone was safe and sound that helped. Most of the time, they just sat and read and drank cocoa; on particularly bad nights, Dean might put on a funny movie to fill the silence.

These were the rituals that helped the heroes to bring themselves back from the abyss. They might be simple, but sometimes it was really the small, simple thing that could be the most effective in chasing away the darkness in the end. And it was a reminder, that, even after everything they had lost over the years, they still had their family, and in the end, that was all that really mattered.


	13. Friendly Fire

Friendly Fire

 _In which there is a battle with some very high stakes_

Dean crept through the silent halls of the bunker, his weapon in his hand, trying to be as quiet as possible. Jack was at his back, toting his own gun, eyes wide, and breath coming quietly as he fought to be as quiet as Dean.

"Do you hear them?" the young man whispered, clutching his weapon tighter as they paused at a corner so Dean could check around it.

"No," he replied and peeked around to see if the coast was clear. When he saw the hallway to the dormitory wing just as deserted as the others, he motioned Jack forward and they hurried down the hall, slipping past a suspiciously cracked doorway.

Dean held his hand up to motion Jack to a halt, and stepped forward cautiously to check it out. He held his gun in one hand at the opening, and stood to one side of the doorway as he reached out with his other hand.

Jack took up position on the other side and readied his weapon to fire, glancing at Dean for a signal.

Dean gave him a nod and shoved the door open.

Both of them tensed as the inside of the room was revealed.

Nothing.

Some tension left both hunters as they stepped back from the door.

"Thought we had 'em there," Dean said. "Come on."

They turned down the hallway again, when a shadow loomed against the wall. Dean quickly hissed at Jack and they hurried around the next corner, pressing their backs against the wall as footsteps were heard coming cautiously down the hallway toward them.

Dean bit his lip, making sure his weapon was ready and peeked around the corner, readying his gun to fire when bullets whipped by him.

He bit back a yelp and slammed his arm into Jack's chest, flattening him against the wall instinctively, before he grabbed a fistful of the kid's jacket, yanking him further down the hallway as a chuckle echoed behind them. "Come on!" Dean hissed.

They ducked into the kitchen and took a breather, crouching down behind the counter. Dean took the chance to reload.

"Should we find some place we can try to trap them, or should be make a run for the door?" Jack asked, glancing around as if they would be found hiding there any second.

Dean mulled it over. "Well, we know they split up—they could already have us locked down, but I was thinking, if _we_ split up, I can distract them at the main door, draw their fire, and you can make a run for the garage."

Jack nodded. "Okay."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's do this, kid. You just wait until they've got me pinned down and then you run while they're distracted."

"Got it," Jack said.

They got up from their crouched position and crept out of the kitchen on their way toward the war room and the doors. They paused at the doorway and pulled back as a flash of trench coat was seen passing by. Dean held his breath, waiting for the right moment before he turned to Jack, nodded, and then stepped out of the kitchen.

No one was there. Dean was tense, glancing around, waiting for the inevitable attack.

And then it came without warning.

He just barely leapt out of the way in time as a bullet flew past his face. He dove behind a library cart and used it as a shield as he pulled his own gun up, finger on the trigger. But his attacker was nowhere to be seen.

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. He was going to have to draw fire so Jack could make his escape, so he stood up, acting as if he were making his way to the stairs.

Movement came from the corner of his eye, and he spun around, pulling the trigger and releasing a bullet which hit the wall toward the library where someone swiftly ducked back around the corner.

"Gotcha," Dean smirked and cocked his gun again, striding forward when another bullet came out of nowhere and hit him right under the eye.

"Ow! Dammit!" he cried, ducking hurriedly under the map table, clutching his eye and trying to escape the rest of the hail of bullets that were being sent in his direction. He hoped Jack had made his move and was on his way out because it looked like his only option now was a blaze of glory.

Decided, he kicked a chair out of his way, springing up and swinging his gun up in the direction of the bullets raining down on him. He got off several of his own and there was a grunt from the shadows.

Dean made a break for the stairs, but the clang of his boots on the metal alerted the others to his plans. A hail of bullets sped toward him as he tried to return fire and not trip on the stairs at the same time. His bullets ran out though and he cursed as he looked down. Sam and Cas were hot on his heels, appearing from their hiding places, though they looked like they needed to reload too. Perfect timing.

Dean dashed the last few steps but his foot caught on the last one and he fell, slamming his shin into the metal stair as footsteps pounded up after him.

"Son of a bitch!" he howled as he dropped his gun, clutching his leg.

Sam and Cas stood over him, their guns pointed at him, satisfied looks on their faces.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam said and then shot him in the chest, adding insult to injury as the foam bullet stung and bounced off of him.

Sam and Cas hurried past Dean's prone form as he scrambled to get up, and they swung the door open. Dean growled and lunged after them, forcing more bullets into his gun as he saw them outside the bunker, looking with confusion at the Impala parked there.

"Where's the flag?" Cas asked in confusion.

"Here."

They spun around as Jack popped up from the backseat of the car, a huge grin on his face as he waved a red kerchief around. Dean limped over toward them with a grin and clapped Jack on the shoulder as the young man got out of the car.

"Ha! Looks like we win, bitch," Dean said, grabbing Jack's arm and raising it into the air with the flag proudly displayed. He pointed his gun at his brother and shot him in the stomach.

"Ow!" Sam yelled, rubbing at the spot.

"Yeah, these things hurt!" Dean said. "You shot me in the face, man!"

"Actually, that was me," Cas said almost proudly. Dean glowered and shot the angel in the middle of his forehead. Cas went cross-eyed and frowned. "It does sting a bit more than expected."

"What doesn't sting is sweet victory," Dean crowed, pumping his fist in the air. "That means Jack and I don't have to do dishes or laundry for two weeks!"

"We settled on one week, Dean," Sam tried to protest, but Dean held up his hand.

"Nope, it was two, and you know it."

"Fine," Sam said good naturedly. "You won fair and square anyway."

"This was fun," Jack said, grinning widely as he toted his Nerf gun. "Can we do it again sometime?"

"Hell yeah," Dean told him. "Sam and Cas are gonna want a rematch, after all." He leaned down and whispered in Jack's ear, loud enough for the others to hear. "Maybe next time we'll actually let them win."

"Oh, haha," Sam scoffed. "We totally could have creamed you."

"Sure, Sammy, keep telling yourself that."

"Oh yeah? How about a rematch right now! Loser buys dinner."

"Well, if your masculinity needs that much reassurance, sure, Sam, I'll help you out," Dean smirked.

"Jerk!" Sam cried.

"Bitch," Dean replied as they all ran back into the bunker to have another all-out Nerf war, their laughter echoing off the walls of their home.

* * *

 **Because I honestly couldn't remember the last time I wrote anything fluffy that didn't involve a character being hurt or sick first, I thought I would just write the boys having a pure, honest good time. And do you know how much I would love to see them have a Nerf war in the bunker?**


End file.
